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Samara

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The cool breeze nipped at my cheeks as I approached the old basketball court, my sneakers crunching softly on the cracked asphalt. This place felt like a secret only I knew-a hidden gem on the outskirts of campus, unpolished but still mine. The outdoor lights buzzed faintly, flickering occasionally, but they were enough to keep the space alive even as the sun melted into the horizon.

I dropped my bag onto the bench, yanking my hoodie closer to my chin. The cold was biting, but it wasn't the weather that had me feeling unsettled. It was them. Damson and Akeem.

Why are you even thinking about them, Sam? I groaned internally. It's not that deep.

With a shake of my head, I slid my headphones on and turned up the volume. Khalid's BAD LUCK spilled into my ears, washing over me like a soothing balm. I grabbed my basketball and started dribbling, the familiar rhythm grounding me.

One bounce, two bounces-shoot. Swish.

I moved around the court with purpose, my mind focusing on nothing but the ball. Running, spinning, shooting. The music drowned out the world, and for the first time all day, my thoughts quieted.

"I'm in love with bad luck. Move too close get caught up"

I belted out the chorus, the ball bouncing between my legs as I danced to the beat. Singing was not my forte-at least, not when anyone else was listening-but out here, it didn't matter.

Until it did.

"Flying in the rain li-"

As I turned, still dribbling, I spotted Damson standing not a few steps in front of me. I screamed, stumbling back as the ball ricocheted off my foot and rolled away.

"Whoa!" he called, stepping forward with his hand outstretched as if to catch me.

I caught my balance, steadying myself before I could hit the ground, clutching my chest like some frazzled heroine in a soap opera.

That's when he broke into laughter.

"You're laughing?" I gasped, glaring at him as his face turned up at the sky.

"Sorry," Damson said, though his apology was entirely undermined by his laughter. "But you-singing like that-and then screaming-" He doubled over, his laugh rich and warm, echoing under the flickering lights.

I stared at him, part mortified, part transfixed. The way his face lit up when he laughed, the soft glow of the lights catching his features-it wasn't fair.

"Nc, nc, nc," I muttered, shaking my head as I walked over to retrieve my ball. "You scared me, and now you're laughing? Real nice."

He straightened, still chuckling. "You have to admit, it was funny."

"Was it, though?" I raised an eyebrow, dribbling the ball absently.

"You wouldn't get it," he teased, his grin smug.

I cross my arms and tilt my head at Damson, skeptical, but felt my lips twitch upward despite myself. "So..," I say, bouncing the ball again, "what are you even doing here? This is my spot."

His eyebrows lift, and he glances around, gesturing dramatically at the court. "Your spot? Really? Because last time I checked, this is a public university."

I roll my eyes. "Yeah, sure. But I've been coming here for months, and no one's ever around. Not a soul."

Damson smirks, leaning slightly on his hip. "Funny. Because I've been coming here for months too, and guess what? No one's ever around."

I pause, narrowing my eyes at him. "No way. You're messing with me."

"Not even a little," he says, feigning innocence as he spreads his hands. "You can even check the worn-out patch by the three-point line. That's my doing."

I glance over, noticing a slightly faded section of the court. Okay, maybe he has a point. But still. "And you never saw me?"

He shrugs. "Guess our schedules just never lined up. Until now."
I tap my chin, pretending to think hard. "Hmm. Or maybe you're just creeping around trying to take over my turf."

He grins. "Oh, yeah. Totally. I've been plotting to steal this one very specific, barely-maintained court. You caught me, sugar."

"Don't call me that," I say quickly, though my lips twitch upward. "Fine. We can share. But just know, if I catch you shooting bricks, I'm claiming full ownership."

Damson laughs, hands on his hips. "Deal. But just so you know, if you try to run the court, I'm bringing my A-game."

"Please," I say, already bouncing my ball. "I live for the challenge. "Okay, fine. I guess we're sharing it, then. Kinda crazy we never ran into each other before..."

"Yeah, crazy," he said, his gaze lingering on me just a second too long.

The air felt different, charged, but I shook it off. "You gonna play, or are you just here to scare me?"

"Oh, I'm playing," he said, a challenge gleaming in his eyes.

And play we did.

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...

Damson was good-annoyingly good. His movements were calculated and smooth, like he knew exactly what my next move would be. But I wasn't about to let him show me up. He smirks as he blocks my path, crouched low, eyes locked on mine. "You better have something better than this, sugar. I thought you were supposed to be top five?"

I grin, stepping back and spinning the ball in my hands. "Careful, Grandpa. Trash-talking me usually ends badly for people."

He tilts his head. "Oh, I'm shaking in my sneakers. What are you gonna do? Hit me with that weak crossover again?"

I fake a gasp. "Weak? Okay, cool. Keep that same energy when I embarrass you."

I dart to the left, and he moves to block me, but I quickly switch directions, leaving him spinning for a second. "Oops! Did I just break your ankles? Should I call an ambulance?"

"Keep talking," he says, recovering fast and stepping in front of me again.

I try to dribble around him, but he snatches the ball, holding it over his head. "What was that? Some kind of charity play?"

"Oh, you're hilarious." I jump up, swiping for the ball, but he holds it higher, grinning. "You want it back? Say please."

"Not in your dreams."

I dart under his arm, snatch the ball with a quick spin, and make a clean layup. Turning around, I point at him with both hands like I just scored in the NBA Finals. "And that, Grandpa, is why you should never underestimate me."

He shakes his head, smiling. "Alright, alright. I'll give you that one. But you know this isn't over, right?"

I step back, bouncing the ball confidently. "Don't hold back now. Wouldn't want to hear excuses when I win."

"Who said I was?" he shot back, stealing the ball and sinking a clean three-pointer.

I groaned. "Okay, lucky shot."

The game became a whirlwind of quick passes and mock trash talk, the court filled with the sound of our sneakers and laughter. For a while, it felt like it was just us, the rest of the world fading into the background.

And then I tripped.

The ball slipped from my hands, and I let out a dramatic scream as I pitched forward.

"Whoa!" Damson's voice was sharp, and before I could hit the ground, his arms wrapped around me, breaking my fall.

One of his hands cradled the back of my head, the other firm around my waist. My hand landed on his chest, and I froze, my eyes squeezed shut. His heartbeat was fast, strong beneath my palm.

"You're okay," he said softly, his voice sending a shiver down my spine.

I opened my eyes slowly, realizing just how close we were. He was staring at me, his gaze warm and searching. For a moment, I couldn't look away.

Then reality hit me like a truck. "Wait-are you okay?" I asked, my hands flying to his face. "I didn't, like, crush you, did I? Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry-"

He chuckled, his breath warm against my cheek. "I'm fine, Samara. Promise."

I let out a nervous laugh, but the way he was looking at me-like I was the only person in the world-made my heart stutter. His eyes flicked to my lips, and suddenly, the air between us felt heavier, charged. My own gaze dropped to his mouth before snapping back to his eyes.

I felt his hand tighten on my waist, pulling me just a fraction closer.

And then his phone buzzed.

The spell broke, and I scrambled to my feet, brushing myself off like nothing had happened. "Uh, thanks," I muttered, avoiding his gaze.

He stood too, his movements slower, more deliberate. "Anytime."

An awkward silence hung between us until I went to grab my jacket and phone. "Well, I should get going."

"Wait." His voice stopped me, and when I turned, he was scratching the back of his neck. "Can I, uh, get your number?"

I blinked at him. "Why?"

He stammered, his usual smoothness nowhere to be found. "In case we-uh-need to plan a rematch?" I stared at him, biting back a laugh. "Sure." I held out my hand. "Phone."

He fumbled to unlock it, handing it over with a sheepish grin. I typed my number in and handed it back. "You remember my name, right?"

He grinned, typing something before holding up his phone.

Before I could get a proper look at it, my phone rang, I glanced at the screen. "Unknown". I looked up at him to already find him staring at me and he shakes his phone in his hand and I read "Calling Sugar"

"Of course," I muttered, scoffing.

He chuckled, but his smugness faded when I showed him my screen. "Grandpa," it read.

"Really?" he asked, rolling his eyes.

"Bye, Grandpa," I said, laughing as I walked away.

"Bye, Sugar," he called, his voice tinged with amusement.

I zip up my hoodie as the night air brushes cool against my skin, the breeze making my cheeks tingle. My headphones sit snugly over my ears, Ariana Grande's "Honeymoon Avenue" humming in the background, though I'm only half paying attention. It's the perfect song for how I'm feeling-soft, a little electric, and maybe too on-the-nose.

I glance up at the sky, the stars scattered like tiny specks of glitter. Pretty, sure, but right now, all I can think about is how I'm not used to this. Not used to guys making me feel... well, this seen.

A smile creeps up as my phone vibrates in my pocket. I pull it out, the light from the screen glowing against the dark path.

Grandpa: "Next time, don't trip, Sugar. I might not catch you."

I roll my eyes, already feeling my fingers itch to respond, but before I can, another text pops up.

Akeem: "Let's plan that hoodie swap Princess. Or do I need to come get it myself? 👀"

I bite my lip, the smile spreading as I shove the phone back in my pocket. My steps feel a little lighter as I walk, the music wrapping around me like a soundtrack to whatever kind of mess I've found myself in.

I glance up at the stars one last time before picking up my pace.

Let the games begin.

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